


Shiner

by ck_suitcase



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-New Moon, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 06:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18733828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ck_suitcase/pseuds/ck_suitcase
Summary: Four days after Edward’s return in New Moon, Bella scrambles to collect the pieces of their previous happiness. The present is thin and sharp and broken, and it cuts in unexpected ways.





	Shiner

I breathed in, taking long, deep-rooted drags of the stagnant air in the truck cab, grasping at the hints of the leathery peppermint-tobacco scent that lingered in the ancient seats. The smell was getting fainter. I hated that it was leaving, changing. It was the one smell that never failed to bring me back to the beginning of everything.

Forks.

Edward.

I needed it to stay the same.

“You’re sure this is all right?” Edward asked, glancing at my face.

He was driving. Both of his long, white hands were curled around the steering wheel. Thanks to some surprising elbow grease of Rosalie’s, my truck had a radio again, but he hadn’t bothered with it, hadn’t reached for it once. Up until this very moment, he had been intently focused on the road unfolding in front of us. That was abnormal, for him. At least it was for the Edward of six months ago. 

I looked at the speedometer, watching the needle hover at a pokey thirty-five miles per hour. He wasn’t breaking the limit, not even by one digit. I leaned forward, and then back, wiping my clammy palms on my jeans. I met his gaze. 

He was here. He was with me. That was the same. 

“I’m sure.” I grinned hard. A nerve jumped in my cheek, and I wondered if I’d pulled a muscle after so many months without smiling.

His eyebrows drew together. He looked away without returning the expression, staring out the windshield. “Everyone is looking forward to seeing you. They’re annoyed with me for keeping you to myself for so long.” 

“Oh.” He just returned to my life four days ago. That wasn’t a lot of time, not even by human standards. I rocked back and forward again, jiggling my leg, trying to fidget out from under the knowledge of his family’s anticipation. It was the same—but in a bad way, a way I had no desire to preserve.

“They’re… they’re not going to throw a party over it, are they?” 

Edward bared his teeth. I saw the bright, steely flash of them for an instant before his mouth closed around them, though it didn’t soften his appearance much with all the tension in his jaw. He hit the gas. The truck’s engine heaved and groaned in protest. 

A second later, we were stopped on the side of the road. 

“Bella.” 

My name sounded more like a growl than a word. He faced me in one blinding movement, his upper body pivoting, so fast—so fast—and my memory had failed to prepare me for the supernatural speed. I wasn’t used to it anymore. It was new again. 

Instinct had my heart racing. I flinched without deciding to, my shoulder blade digging into the cold glass of the window as I pressed against the door. A burst of alertness shot through my brain and down my limbs. My fingers trembled.

Adrenaline. 

Edward’s eyes widened, as unprepared for my reaction as I was, and the stiff set of his mouth skewed upward, his lips contorting in a jagged mark of pain. “I’m sorry. Don’t be afraid, Bella. I’m not angry with you. How could I be? I—” 

The agitated outpouring of words cut off as he was forced to take in more air. The scent of my fear visibly affected him. Something predatory flitted across his face, flaring his nostrils and masking the hurt in his eyes with a glaze that was frosty and shrewd. But it vanished as soon as I realized it was there. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “You have nothing to fear. Not me, or parties, or anything else I may have ruined for you.”

I laughed. It wasn’t an appropriate response, and I wanted to kick myself, but my nerves were frazzled and laughing seemed better than bursting into tears. “It’s not funny,” I gasped. “It’s not funny. I just—I just need to—” 

I covered my face with my hands and shut my eyes. I took my time in the dark and quiet, trying to calm down. Then it got too quiet for too long, and an irrational jab of terror struck me—what if he leaves while I’m not looking? He could be gone already—and I ripped my hands away. 

He hadn’t moved a muscle, forever the perfect statue. It was difficult to tell in the fading evening light, but he seemed to glance down. “Are you cold?” 

“I’m okay,” I said, confused. It was only after I answered that I realized my traitorous arms had twined fiercely around my ribs, preparing for the gaping hole in my chest to tear open the moment he disappeared. My cheeks burned. I straightened from shoulder to elbow, putting my hands back on my legs, and glared at my lap. 

He was here. I was whole. He didn’t deserve to see that. 

“I don’t know why a bunch of vampires would be excited to see me.” I cleared my throat, trying to lighten my voice. “It’s not like I stand a chance at baseball.” 

One corner of Edward’s mouth twitched upward. “Perhaps chess.” 

“I don’t know how to play chess.” 

“Really? I could teach you.” He reached slowly across the seat, his fingertips just brushing against the worn leather, gliding closer. His hand stopped short of touching my leg, and then he flipped it over at what he probably considered to be human speed, although it was done with too much care to appear natural. His palm lay open beside me, asking, hesitating.

I slipped my fingers into the spaces between his and held on. My hand was cradling a frozen river stone, pulled from frigid waters and worn down to silk. It was the most remarkable feeling, especially as the stone shifted beneath my grip and his fingers curled to gently, ever so gently, cradle my hand in return. 

I thought of that beautiful day in the meadow, twisting his palm, watching it catch the sun and toss multicolored fragments of light into the wildflowers.

This was almost the same.

The back of his free hand ghosted down the side of my face. The knobs of his knuckles didn’t quite meet my skin, but the proximity of them drew a tingling, nearly ticklish line from my temple to my chin. “What are you thinking?” 

I realized I was smiling without meaning to, without struggling to put one on. “That I wish I could remember everything forever, like you do.” 

“Ah.” He turned to look out the windshield, squaring up with the steering wheel and releasing his hold on me to shift the gears of the truck. He pulled onto the road, and we continued onward. 

It started to rain. I looked out the passenger window, gazing after the zigzagging streams the droplets left behind as the wind propelled them across the glass. Gray, soggy weather—there was something I could count on. Nothing could truly belong to this town until it had been painted in watercolor. 

“Remembering everything can be a burden,” Edward said, abruptly returning to the conversation. “It’s only as pleasant as all the things you can’t forget.” 

But your kind is easily distracted.

The thought tore through me, and I shuddered. I didn’t like this talk about forgetting. It was too close to that talk, the one that ended in goodbye. Ironically, the reminder was an ideal example of what he was saying. My memory was lax and malleable in its approach to capturing ordinary, day to day events, but exceptionally painful things were imprisoned in iron cells in my brain, ready and waiting to be relived at the most inopportune moment.

It was a lie. He had been lying. He was here now.

“Yeah.” I rubbed my hands on my jeans, up and down, up and down. “I get that.” 

He exhaled. It sounded like a hiss. “I’m sorry.” 

Shame sunk like a heavy weight in my chest, crashing into a rotted floor of fury. “Stop. I forgave you like twelve times already. Stop it.” 

Edward turned into the hidden drive. There were lights on inside the house, easily spotted through all the windows. There was a light over the driveway too. As he parked, the yellow glow revealed the expression on his face, and I knew he was berating himself in his thoughts, thinking all the ugly things I just told him not to say out loud. 

“Will you sleep tonight?” he asked.

I looked down. “I’ll try.” 

His finger caught under my chin, directing my head up, encouraging me to meet his gaze. “Bella…” He scanned over my face, his attention caught by some feature just below my eyes. He touched the thin skin beneath one of them, tracing a crescent shape with his fingertip. “These circles are so dark, they look like bruises.”

“Great. I’ll fit right in with the rest of the coven.” I tugged on my door handle, leaning my weight into the dense metal of the truck until the hinges squealed and gave in. Wet wind gushed into the cab, and I pulled up the hood on my jacket before I hopped out, the cement slick under my boots. “Beat you to the house, Edward!” 

I took off running, even though I knew it was a lost cause and, for a klutz like me, potentially suicidal. I listened for the slam of the driver side door, but I didn’t hear it, not right away and not even a couple milliseconds later. I glanced over my shoulder—

And gasped. Edward’s arms wrapped around me from behind, curling across my midsection and pulling me back against his chest just as I lost my balance, preventing me from falling face first into a long line of bushes. His lips were at my ear, murmuring words part amused and part frustrated.

“Always tempting fate.” 

I didn’t get a chance to react. The shrubbery in front of me was the last clear thing I saw. The leaves sprouted from mossy branches. Green, green, and more green. Green on green, I thought. At which point the color lost all definition, the boundary of one thing consumed by the next until my surroundings transformed into an uninterrupted shamrock blur. 

My feet weren’t touching the driveway anymore. That’s what really clued me in to the fact that we were moving. Yet, as soon as I realized it, before the realization could even sink in, we had stopped. There was ground beneath me again, and Edward’s hold was broken, and the world divided into solid things I could recognize.

The most prominent thing was the front door, now positioned directly before me. We were on the porch. I blinked at the familiar white pillars. 

“I’ve startled you again.” 

“No, it was fine. I’m fine. Just a little disoriented.” I turned to look at him, wanting him to see I was telling the truth. I was expecting his speed this time, and I wasn’t afraid, and he needed to know that. “I’ll take all the help I can get. It’s not like I really expected to win a race against you anyway.” 

“Well, technically, you did set foot on the porch first.” 

I examined the distance between us in surprise. I was a few steps ahead. I knew he was responsible for placing me there, but I wasn’t about to turn down victory. Especially when I could get something out of it. 

“So.” I approached him, racking my brain for some seductive gesture. I came up with nothing and only succeeded in making myself feel incredibly shy. “Do I win anything?” 

Edward remained where he was, although he seemed wary. “What would you like?”

Unable to seize upon anything more creative, I slung my arms around his neck. The sleeves of my raincoat protected my skin from the chill of his, which was somewhat disappointing, but my fingers were free to anchor themselves in his hair. He smelled wonderful. My memory had failed spectacularly in trying to preserve his scent, and so it was new again too, and I was left grappling for ways to describe it, to better keep it for myself incase… 

Incase.

I decided it was the opposing textures of the smell that made it so intoxicating. It was kind of like herbal cotton candy. Sweet and slight and airy, but cumulative, thickening, and housing drops of refreshing clean that hit sporadically, like the occasional wispy cloud that formed and dissipated in the Arizona sky. The pure clean and the slight sweet mingled with one another, broke apart, and then alternated without any discernible pattern. The unpredictability kept me from becoming desensitized, holding me poised on the edge of the next delicious contrast. It drew me in. It beckoned me closer.

I tilted my face up. 

Edward leaned down, and I could feel the absolute stillness of him. He wasn’t breathing. The tightening in his shoulders signaled a powerful restraint. He kissed my forehead, and then, more lingeringly, my cheek. His lips did not yield at all, but there was so little pressure, they were nearly soft to my skin. He peeled off my hood—which made no difference under the shelter of the porch anyway—and his hand followed it, rubbing my back.

My heart thudded in my ears, lub-dubbing so fast that it drowned out every other sound. It pounded hard, a desperate outsider demanding to be let into the space between us. I started to get dizzy, and I thrilled to recognize the rush.

This was the same. This was exactly the same. 

I gripped his hair more forcefully and attempted to meet his mouth with mine.

He immobilized my wrists and backed out of my hold, shaking his head at me. Although there was a lightness to his mannerisms that conflicted with the disapproval, as if an exchange of torments had taken place. “And here I thought your survival instincts had finally decided to make an appearance.” 

“Some prize,” I grumbled. 

“As you said, you had help.” He stepped past me and made quick work of the stylishly tarnished brass handle, swinging the faded, bone-hewed door out of the way. “After you.” 

I walked in. The house was abandoned not long ago, not long ago at all, and the emptiness was still too fresh for me look at the furniture without seeing it all draped in sheets. The couch had made an effective ghost. The piano, especially, featured in my nightmares. I couldn’t say they were the things that gave me the nightmares, but they were frightening for someone who could recall what they had been in life. 

Now, all the furniture was exposed, resurrected and even more lovely for it. Every piece was clean and polished, just like the floors, just like the windows. As I wandered from one area to the next, the gloom of that dark, dead vision was replaced by a veneer of glee. Something continued to fester beneath it, but the buried ache only sharpened the joy. 

“You act like you’ve never seen it before,” Edward observed. He was following my lead, retracing my heavy, clopping footsteps in silence.

I whirled around, suddenly swimming in energy. “I love it here.” 

“Thank you, dear,” came a laughing, musical voice. 

Esme materialized beside me. Her caramel-colored hair was piled high on her head in a style I had never seen outside of sepia photographs, and she was holding a splotched cloth in her hands. Her dark purple shirtsleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her pale forearm speckled with bluish places. I assumed it was dust. Even with the grime, she looked unspeakably elegant. 

“I love it too. It’s a wonderful house.” She seemed to fuzz out of focus, and then she was clear again, and she was holding a framed picture. The cloth was gone. “I was so happy to return to it. I have to admit, it was one of my favorites to restore.” 

She breezed over to the wall opposite where we were standing and contemplated a bare section of it, tapping the pointed end of a nail against her chin like it was an eraser on a pencil. With each twist of her wrist, the metal pinged softly off her stony skin. She stepped to the right, leaned a hint to the left, and then closed in on the drywall. Standing very close, she reached up and rested the hand holding the nail flush to the glossy surface to indicate her chosen spot.

“It looks centered to me,” Edward said, answering her question before she asked. 

I nodded in agreement before realizing she couldn’t see me. “Yep. Me too.” 

She pressed the nail into the wall with her thumb and hung the picture. Once it was in place, she came to stand alongside us again. “Well?” She paused expectantly, then added, “I painted it myself.” 

My brow lifted. “You paint?”

“I dabble in it. Very occasionally.”

I shifted forward, instantly eager to see her work. In my experience, vampires were superior to humans at everything, and so I imagined the painting before me would be more extraordinary than anything Renee had pointed out to me during our multiple trips to the Phoenix Art Museum. I pictured the scenic oil paintings in Carlisle’s office—only to be jolted out of the memory of the careful rendering of centuries-old London by a shapeless… something.

I blinked, struggling to adjust my expectations to reality. Esme’s painting was red, or it had a lot of red, and some streaks of blue. And a smattering of what looked like real twigs from outside. And some… netting? 

“Wow.” I hoped it was the right thing to say. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you like it?” Esme prompted.

“Yeah. It’s great.” 

I risked a glance back at her, and she was beaming. I returned my attention to the artwork, hoping my lack of understanding wasn’t too obvious. I was familiar with abstract art. It was just that I could never comprehend what made one seemingly random collection of colors and shapes better than any other. 

I felt too human. I was a measly 18 years old, which was too old, physically, when I knew that every day my body was drifting further and further from Edward’s eternal 17, but moments like this reminded me how far behind I was in the life experience department. Clearly, Esme’s work was a masterpiece, and I wasn’t wise enough to interpret the deeper meaning of—

“What is it?” Edward broke in.

I started at the question and glared, ready to accuse him of playing dumb to try and make me feel less inadequate. Except his brow was lowered in confusion, and he wasn’t looking at me at all, so there was no way he was reading my face. 

I felt lighter. And more than a little thrown off balance.

Before Esme could respond in any way I was capable of hearing, Carlisle rounded the corner. He moved slowly enough that my eyes could keep track of him and regarded me with a careful smile. “Hello, Bella.” He pivoted toward Esme. “Rosalie and Emmett sent me to tell you everything is ready. It’s half past four.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Esme peered in the direction of an ornate grandfather clock situated at the other end of the house. I could barely make it out from where we were standing, but I knew she was reading it. “I was just finding a place to hang my painting. Do you like it there?” 

Carlisle draped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m disappointed it’s not in my office.” 

“But you already have so many things on the walls in there. In fact, it’s a bit cluttered—“

“Nothing could be as inspiring as your work.”

“Oh, you,” she said affectionately, swatting at the air as if to knock away the compliment. “That just isn’t true.”

“Medically speaking—“

She kissed him. The moment her lips touched his, I started to look away, feeling intrusive, but the way their mouths moved together was so relaxed, so careless, that my focus lingered for a beat more than was probably polite. It was completely foreign to me. It defied all of the strict parameters I associated with kissing vampires, the concrete rules Edward adhered to in order to ensure what we were doing was safe.

We were different. Carlisle and Esme were the same.

Edward took my hand. His cool fingers tugged me toward the piano. “I’ll play for you now, if you’d like.”

Where before his footsteps had been silent, now I could hear every movement as I followed him across the wooden floor. Each stride seemed to be punctuated by deliberate force. He pulled me down beside him on the bench, lifting the cover over the keys of the instrument and sliding it back with a grinding creak and sudden thud that seemed unnatural. 

As his fingers launched into a thunderous bass chord, I realized he was being loud because he could not simply look away from Carlisle and Esme to grant them privacy. I remembered how he once compared mind reading to standing in a crowd, surrounded by constant chatter. I tried to imagine being lodged in the middle of a packed party, a party I could never leave, and nearly cringed.

Even that couldn’t be an accurate comparison, though. Because, while no one could talk all the time and pauses were a required part of any conversation, thinking was relentless. When there was sleep, there were dreams. And vampires didn’t ever even come that close to being unconscious.

I leaned into his side, pressing my lips to the soft cotton sleeve covering his shoulder. 

His arm jolted slightly under my kiss. The song he was playing slowed, faltered, the accompaniment surrounding the melody fraying around the edges and then stopping completely as he used one hand to brush back the hair that had tumbled over my shoulder. His eyes locked on mine for a weightless second before returning to the music on the stand. Without anything further, the song reclaimed his attention, and yet I was sure there was more feeling in it than there had been a moment ago.

“Won’t you play with us, Bella?” 

I straightened up, surprised to discover Esme beside the piano bench. 

“Oh, um...” I met Carlisle’s gaze. He was standing behind her. “What are you playing?” 

As I asked, Edward ceased playing anything. His hands stilled and abandoned the keys. The room seemed much quieter after being filled with music.

A frown twisted Esme’s face in response. “You don’t have to stop,” she told him.

Edward shrugged. “No, but this will make it easier for Bella to hear you.” 

“What?” I resisted the urge to either stomp my feet or jump onto them, but just barely. “I didn’t— I never said I couldn’t...” 

He quirked an eyebrow at me, and the hot steam which had filled my chest at his assumption started to cool as I realized how far back I was leaning, craning my neck toward Carlisle and Esme. I didn’t need to say anything. Apparently, my body language already betrayed me. He was right, and he knew he was right, and I hated it.

I gnawed at my bottom lip to make up for the fact that there was nothing I could say to conceal the truth. Then I humphed in annoyance. Stupid, second-rate human hearing.

He laughed lightly. 

“We’re playing a card game,” Carlisle explained. His tone sounded amused, though his expression remained utterly composed. “It’s very similar to Solitaire, except it isn’t played alone. Emmett calls it Nuts.” 

I’d never heard of it, but I was kind of a fan of Solitaire, especially before I got stuck with a decrepit snail of a computer. Plus card games required significantly less coordination than sports of the gym class variety. The odds were pretty good that I wouldn’t cause any catastrophes. Also, the Cullens were a hair’s breadth from indestructible. Also, Carlisle was a doctor.

“Sounds fun,” I decided. I peered over at Edward. “Do you wanna play?” 

“No, no way. No fair.” Emmett’s voice boomed down the staircase, announcing his presence before he was even in the room. His blurred shape was there in the next instant, clarifying into a wall of muscle with dimples and curly hair. “Hate to break it to you, Bella, but Edward’s a chronic cheat.” His mouth was fixed into a mock-serious line, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling, and the corners of his lips kept rising each time he disciplined them down.

I grinned, happy to see him. Happy to see them all. “Is that so?” 

“For the thousandth time, it doesn’t count as cheating when it’s completely out of my control,” Edward told Emmett. “As if I need to hear your thoughts to know you never bother to have a strategy.”

“That’s ‘cos I don’t need one to win.” 

“When was the last time you won, exactly? Because I believe Eisenhower was still in office—“

It was difficult for me to piece together what happened next. I knew Emmett must have moved. I couldn’t see him clearly anymore. There was a loud sound, a banging, like thunder, like a vampire up to bat. Wind seemed to blow at me and away from me at the same time. A powerful gust sent sheets of music flying, snapping against the force of the air as they drifted to the floor. The room calmed after that, but there was another bang, even louder than the first. It sounded like something massive had shattered, as if someone took a sledgehammer to a slab of stone.

I blinked. Edward wasn’t beside me anymore.

I stood up and looked around. The last direction I looked was down, but that was where he had gone. Edward was on his back on the floor. For a split second, I wondered why he would choose to lay there so suddenly. I thought it was strange. I wondered if he threw himself down to dodge Emmett. And then, as I took in the awkward positioning of his arms and legs, as I absorbed the fact that some of the floorboards had splintered beneath him, I realized that he was there on his back because he didn’t dodge Emmett.

Emmett hit him. I knew it was a playful hit, but Emmett was strong, and Edward wasn’t moving, and I had never seen Edward really fall before. Not once. Not ever. 

Is he hurt?

“Edward!” I moved toward him. I reached for him. I made to get down on my knees.

Esme reacted much faster. She was already beside him, her hands cradling his face. She was speaking to him too fast for me to break apart the individual words. She looked up, her eyes wide. “Carlisle, he’s not answering me.” 

Carlisle was on his other side. He was feeling around Edward’s chest and under his back, his examination precise and thorough, checking for injuries. It didn’t seem right to me for him to be moving Edward so much. Then again, I guessed he didn’t have to be concerned about broken bones, or spinal cords, or the existence of any other delicate tissue. I had no idea what there was to worry about in a vampire body, and that was abruptly terrifying.

I crouched next to Carlisle, getting as close as I could and wishing it was me holding his face. His eyes were closed. I gripped his knee. It was a poor substitute, but it felt as rock solid as ever. It felt fine. It felt impenetrable. “What is it? What’s the matter? What happened?” 

It didn’t take long for Carlisle to discover the answer. I could tell when he figured it out because his hands stopped roaming and remained in one area. He started to undo the top buttons on Edward’s charcoal dress shirt, destroying any lingering hope I had that this was some silly misunderstanding or a cruel joke. He found something. Something was really, truly wrong.

It was hard to swallow. There was nothing to swallow. My mouth went dry.

“There’s a crack in his chest, just below his collarbone.” He pulled the two halves of the shirt farther apart, exposing the damage. “It didn’t break all the way through, but it’s fairly deep.” 

“Jesus,” Emmett said. “Hell. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Carlisle nodded in reassurance. “We know that, Emmett. I don’t understand why he’s been unresponsive for this long. He should be healing by now.” 

I stared at the jagged split in Edward’s skin, willing it to close. The gap was big, wider than I ever would have imagined, wide enough to stick a finger in. I didn’t expect there to be blood, but it was still unnerving not to see any. It looked black in the wound. It looked like he was hollow inside.   
Nothing about it suggested damage to a person, a body, a living thing. I had to remind myself that Edward wasn’t technically alive, that he hadn’t been for a long time. Even pressing my ear to his silent chest hadn’t conveyed the message as viscerally as this did.

“Idiot. He was supposed to get out of the way.” Emmett’s voice got softer, went quiet. “He always gets out of the way.” 

“It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty because Edward decided to just sit there like a buffoon,” Rosalie burst out, catching me off guard.

I looked over my shoulder, her tone transforming my startled glance into a glare. She was holding Emmett in an embrace. His head was down, his forehead pressed into the crook of her neck. She must have come in sometime while I was too distracted to notice. But—but if she was here, that had to mean that everyone knew. That had to mean that—

I searched. There was no one else in the room.

“Where’s Alice?” I demanded.

Why hadn’t she seen this future before it happened? Why wasn’t she here, telling me how many minutes I had to wait to see Edward open his eyes again?

“She’s hunting in Canada with Jasper,” Esme replied.

“The cell service isn’t always the most reliable in Saskatchewan,” Rosalie snapped, as if my question personally offended her, though I couldn’t care less why at the moment. She met my eyes, and I had no idea what she saw there, but her gorgeous face warmed in a way I never witnessed before. I wondered if that was how she’d looked when she apologized on the way home from Italy, but I had been so close to sleep, I couldn’t remember. “Bella, I’m sorry this happened. I’m sure Edward will be all right.” 

“He still hasn’t started to heal,” Carlisle said, a touch of urgency leaking into his words. “Why isn’t he…?” 

I turned back to the crack across Edward’s chest, hating that it was still there, sick with the knowledge that it wasn’t any smaller. What was wrong? I looked at his face, wishing he would wake up and tell us. His expression was wiped clean of all emotion. His eyes stayed shut, and the only thing I could think was: 

This is what Edward looked like when he was capable of sleeping. This is what his face was like when he could still dream.

I stared at the wound again, my mind racing. I tried to take stock of everything I could recall about killing vampires, hoping I would stumble upon how to fix one in reverse. Destroying them wasn’t supposed to be easy. There was some small comfort in that.

I thought about James. He had been ripped to pieces and burned. The fire kept the pieces from being able to come back together. There wasn’t any fire here, but why did the body have to be ripped to pieces first? Obviously it would stop the vampire from attacking. It was also logical to assume that the farther apart the pieces were, the longer they would take to reassemble. 

The crack was too wide.

“We have to help him,” I said. I leaned over him, reaching to press the jagged edges closer together, but Carlisle caught one of my wrists.

“No, Bella. It’s sharp, and vampire wounds can leak venom. If you were to cut your finger...” 

“Okay,” I agreed quickly, not wanting to waste anymore time. “Then you have to do it. Please.” 

Carlisle moved. Suddenly he was situated above Edward’s head, and Esme had backed away to give him more space. He gripped Edward by the shoulders and pushed him up, almost into a sitting position. Then his arm came around Edward’s chest, allowing his upper body to collapse over it. Immediately I could see that the crack was being pressed closed by the posture as his weight forced him to curl into himself, his head hanging down, his chin resting against his chest.

The crack couldn’t be brought together any other way, I realized. Only human skin was soft and flexible enough to stretch. And yet, in the moments that followed, I did not feel soft, or flexible, or even alive. 

I became a statue. I waited for a change. 

No one moved.


End file.
